


Get Some Shut-Eye

by notanescalator



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Some comfort, the grand old ot3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 10:09:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8620411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notanescalator/pseuds/notanescalator
Summary: “Purely professional concern, Doctor?” Jim smirked. “What makes you think I’m not sleeping?”“Our darling hobgoblin, my best informant.” Leonard pushed Jim’s book aside and steadied himself with one hand on Jim’s knee, smile wicked for a moment, then turning gentle. “You had the same shift off a day ago and he told me you didn’t sleep a wink.”--In which Bones is a worrywart, Spock is thoughtful, and Jim is grateful for what he has.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A short and sweet prompt-fill for my friend as a kind of writer's block exercise. I liked it so i thought I'd post it... after a little tidying up because I had an Actual Migraine when I was writing it and by the last paragraph could not exactly see the screen properly.

The observation deck smelled of coffee, or rather of what Starfleet had generously termed the drain water that sustained it’s red-eyed officers in this hellscape. Leonard wouldn’t touch it at all if he didn’t draw the line at being legitimately drunk on the job.  
  
Nowadays he only hovered outside the door briefly, the days gone of talking to Jim with his back resolutely turned to the viewing window as if telling space to kiss his ass (though in actual fact avoiding the stomach-churning sight of the stars bolting past). One time, Jim had innocently suggested that looking might actually help. One later-disinfected patch of floor underlined the fact that Leonard, not Jim, was CMO for a reason.  
  
The doors hissed open and Leonard made a cursory bounce on his heels to collect his bearings before passing through. Jim was sat in front of the window, an inkblot against the blare of warp-blue. Next to him were a pile of books, one of their siblings open half on his knees and half on the floor. One hand held the page out, the other his coffee cup.  
  
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were avoiding your doctor,” Leonard said, by way of greeting. Jim didn’t move, save a small chuckle into his cup.  
  
“There’s no hiding from you, Bones.” His voice was a little drier, fainter than usual, but carried the same crackle of warm amusement. Leonard could practically hear the twist of his mouth.  
  
Scotty had once openly theorised that the only person who knew the ship’s layout better than himself was Leonard, purely since he could track down a crew member disregarding their health with alarming accuracy. Jim’s idea, as Leonard understood it, was more that he was pulled through the corridors by a sort of physician’s six sense with very little regard for where he ended up in the ship. Spock pointed out that given his understanding of the crew as a psychiatrist, a coworker, a friend and an… “etc”, it was Logical that Leonard would be able to locate them with efficiency, especially since more often than not he was hunting down Jim.  
  
Leonard thought they all had an element of truth.  
  
He tried to avoid looking directly at the window as he joined Jim, which wasn’t an easy feat, but no one had ever accused him of lacking stubbornness. Jim glanced up at him then, apparently saw something which made his eyes soften with fondness, and set his coffee aside. “Things a little slow in Sickbay?”  
  
“This is your off-shift,” Leonard said, skipping right over Jim’s attempt to distract him from his nagging. “You should be resting. Not sitting in the dark poking at books.” He regarded the pile of volumes with sharp-eyed disapproval. “You say _I’m_ old-fashioned. In this day’n age you might be the first to make yourself long-sighted before 40.”  
  
“How I spend my free time is my business.” Jim’s tone was mostly playful, but there was a hint of his Captain Voice in there. His own particular streak of stubbornness. It said not so much, _I know best,_ as, _I operate under the belief I know best until I see impressive evidence to the contrary._  
  
“Not if you’re not getting enough sleep,” Leonard countered. “You know damn well your right to your own actions ends where it affects the safety of the ship. My job is to keep you well enough to do yours.” He crouched down and tilted Jim’s chin up to better look at his face. Fatigue and guilt were written there as plainly as text. That frown of his was knotted into his forehead.  
  
“Purely professional concern, Doctor?” Jim smirked. “What makes you think I’m not sleeping?”  
  
“Our darling hobgoblin, my best informant.” Leonard pushed Jim’s book aside and steadied himself with one hand on Jim’s knee, smile wicked for a moment, then turning gentle. “You had the same shift off a day ago and he told me you didn’t sleep a wink.”  
  
“Last time you and I had the same shift off, we didn’t get much sleep either,” Jim pointed out with a rakish smile, trying one last attempt to fend off Leonard’s concern.  
  
Leonard didn’t dignify that with a response - he knew he’d won an argument when Jim played the seduction card. He let silence hang for a moment, suddenly completely unaware of the void at his back. Meeting Jim’s steady, brown eyes - the complete inconvenience of love for the man weighing him down - he sighed.  
  
“Understand, Jim. It was not your fault. You make tough calls every day, and god knows I’ve been guilty of over-analyzing mine. We’re only human. But you trust me to tell you when you’re in danger of drifting off, so that’s what I’m doing.”  
  
Jim lowered his eyes, brow smoothing out. He took the hand of Leonard’s that was on his knee and held it, thumb brushing over the knuckles. Jim then neatly turned it over and kissed the wrist once. “Understood, Bones.”  
  
*  
  
“You’re like the damn night-light nobody asked for.”  
  
Spock turned from the desk, the lamp a halo of light around him. “I beg your pardon, Doctor?”  
  
There was a rustle of sheets as Leonard shifted in bed, but his face was still not visible from Spock’s position. “Who can sleep with you convening with computers into the night?”  
  
“Night is a subjective state here, Leonard, and I have work to complete.” He glanced at the lamp and considered. “If it is bothering you, I can lower the light or take my work elsewhere.”  
  
Leonard sat up, leaning on one elbow, the hand hanging carelessly off the bed. He shook his head as if encountering a curious new disease. “You and Jim both. Reading and writing in low light is bad for the eyes.”  
  
He had ignored the second option altogether, Spock noted. He wondered whether he should repeat it. “As I believe you should be aware, _Doctor_ , Vulcans can function with less assistance in that area. I assure you, it would be no inconvenience.”  
  
Leonard’s mouth fell open, and Spock could see - with a secret, illogical, flare of satisfaction - the man at war over whether to carry on his criticism of Spock’s self-care or rise to the slight.  
  
He split the difference. “Regardless of those scanners you call eyes, Mr. Spock, you are still _half-human_ . Flattering as I’m sure a pair of glasses would be on you, I don’t currently have the medicine aboard to treat an alien migraine.”  
  
It wasn’t his full-blown anger by any means, rather his fond, almost incidental arguing. Since the three of them had become “involved” as Jim gracefully put it, Spock and Leonard had sort of carried on bickering, half with the understanding that it was expected of them, and half because they secretly enjoyed it. How well kept a secret that was depended largely on who you talked to.  
  
Spock now understood well-enough without any help from his Vulcan abilities when Leonard was being Difficult out of concern. Not long ago he had been forced to pass on his own… observations of Jim’s ill sleep to Leonard, with the knowledge that there was some things Leonard was just better equipped to handle. Human emotions were better tackled with human understanding after all, and even Spock could privately concede that Leonard had his own form of tactfulness.  
  
“As I said,” Spock said smoothly, in a tone he only directed toward Leonard or Jim when no one else was present. “If it is keeping you awake, I can remove my work to the library or the laboratory. I am aware your shift in the Medbay was… demanding.”  
  
If Leonard disapproved of Spock’s referring to four crew members slowly succumbing to their injuries - while Leonard could merely talk to them and manage their pain - as “demanding”, he didn’t say so. His “internal Spock translator” (as Spock had heard it called) worked better and better recently, and he felt more confident that Leonard knew to read into his simplistic terms for human emotional affairs. In fact, right now, Leonard didn’t seem to be looking at him at all. Gaze off to one side he seemed tired in a way that extended beyond mere physical fatigue, lower jaw working.  
  
“Damnit, Spock,” he murmured eventually, “come to bed. Haven’t you done enough for one day?”  
  
Spock was on the verge of countering him, stating very reasonably that he had some landing party findings to expand on, a variety of files to translate into Vulcan and send home, and an inventory list of the lab. And that, while none of those had to be completed for the next 28 hours, it was always his personal practice to finish ahead of time.  
  
However, something in him - whether it was the collection of weaknesses, impulses, and emotional complexities that they had all agreed to over-simplify as his “human half”, or simply that immovable mark that the captain and the doctor had made on his soul - told him to simply do as Leonard said. That somehow it was what he needed.  
  
“Very well, Doctor.” He caught a brief glimpse of Leonard’s surprise before switching off the lamp, who then shuffled back to accommodate him.  
  
There was a tiny row of lights along the wall, since it was considered dangerous for the rooms to be pitch black, and though - as Spock understood it - they meant that Leonard could only see the outline of Spock’s head and shoulder, and perhaps the glint of an eye, it was more than sufficient for him to pick out the muted features of Leonard’s face. They were still not entirely relaxed.  
  
These moments, Spock acknowledged, were the most trying on his emotional discipline, the most keenly felt. There wasn’t the boundless irritation that existed in his arguments with Leonard, the baffled exasperation at the self-sacrificing actions of Jim, or even the disorientating and unfathomable desire that defined their sexual encounters. It was these silent interludes, confronted merely with his love for the two men and how much of himself he had compromised in the name of it. Seeing them, and allowing himself to be seen.  
  
What he saw in the doctor’s face displeased him. He raised his hand to Leonard’s face but did not touch it, held it back far enough so as not to disquiet him. “May I?”  
  
He saw Leonard’s gaze shift from his own face, to his hand, and then back again. There was an uncertainty there, and Spock was about to clarify that what he wanted to do was not a meld exactly, to barely enter the mind at all, but simply skim the surface and calm it. He was ready to pull back either way, but Leonard nodded before he could do either. He let his fingers move against Leonard’s face more softly than was typical, and Leonard turned into the touch, meeting his eyes once more before closing them. Spock followed suit.  
  
As promised, though only to himself as it happened, he touched on Leonard’s mind only gently. However, the pain seemed to reach out to him before he realized it was there. Even as he felt Leonard eventually relax, and fall asleep against him, he wondered at the burden of such a toiling mind.  
  
*  
  
“Is your communicator working yet?”  
  
Jim had practically barked the question at Spock, who turned from his position on a nearby platform. He raised an eyebrow at the shortness of Jim’s tone, and was no doubt about to point out that he had asked this many times with the same result, and if the communicators once again became responsive then Jim would certainly be aware of it. However, Jim got there before he could.  
  
“I’m sorry, Spock, it’s just…” He stood, hands on hips surveying the landscape for what he personally estimated to be the fiftieth time (math admittedly being more Spock’s forte). “The settlement is collapsing and even if we manage to regain contact with the ship-”  
  
“-We may not find Doctor McCoy before destruction is complete,” Spock finished neatly, but his expression was - to Jim’s trained eyes - softer than a moment ago, and he could see the signs of what constituted panic in Vulcan body language. Not to mention he had sought out various high vantage points several times, and while - as he reasoned - they were useful for gauging the condition of the settlement, Jim was convinced he was still looking for any sign of Bones.  
  
They had come to investigate an underground facility established by a group of Starfleet scientists who, upon discovering a substance in the earth with miraculous properties - potential for new sources of power, advances in medicinal treatment, boosting agriculture - had proceeded to hack into the planet, only to discover that it was sentient. At their best guess, a giant organism lived in the core, and they had effectively been killing it. Now, it seemed, the creature had had enough. Most of the scientists had been killed, but amid the chaos, Kirk and Spock had lost track of the leader - Dr Foster - and Bones.  
  
A roar went up as the now-destroyed subterranean city continued to collapse, causing the ground to yawn open and send plantlife, buildings and river water gushing down into it. It was getting closer, the quakes violent enough that Spock fell from the platform he had been on and rolled to a stop at Jim’s feet. Jim scrambled forward as best he could and gripped his arm, squinting for signs of blood.  
  
“I am all right, Captain,” Spock insisted, his vocabulary professional, his tone less so. Jim met his eyes, hand slipping from Spock’s arm to his hand, and time seemed to stretch in the understanding - the urge to remain on the rapidly collapsing planet, and in some way remain with their missing third piece, the urge which could not be yielded to.  
  
And if Bones _was_ dead…  
  
Jim saw a smear of green in the blurring dirt. He had to think of Spock, then. _Even if I die here-_  
  
(Spock’s protest as he picked up Jim’s thought was muffled by the roar)  
  
\- _even if I die here_ , _Spock must live. If at all possible_ . He let go of Spock’s hand and snapped open his communicator, as if to try and make the piece of tech understand that he was _Captain James Tiberius Kirk_ and it _was_ going to connect him to his ship, damnit.  
  
“Kirk to Enterprise, come in.”  
  
There was a promising crackle.  An echoing voice tried twice before it fully formed. “ _Captain! Wh_ -”  
  
There was no time for the relief to register. “No time to explain. The planet is collapsing.” His voice faltered for a moment, squinting at the heaving distance. “Two to beam up.”  
  
There was a tug, something familiar like pins and needles and then he was standing in the transporter.  
  
Alone.  
  
He stared across the room at Scotty, accusingly, the comparative steadiness of the ship unnerving. He ignored the creeping nausea and tried to run to the controls, but he stumbled and was forced to cling to the wall. “Scotty! Where’s Spock?”  
  
“I don’t know, Sir! We had you both and then-”  
  
Jim stared back at the transporter which appeared to be tilting. Sulu’s voice came over the comm. “ _Captain, we need to move out of orbit._ ”  
  
Jim wanted to say no, which he knew was against regulation, deadly to everyone on board, and Spock and Bones would probably manage to haunt Jim just to voice their disapproval. It was also, most painfully to admit, illogical. However, he couldn’t shake this gut feeling that they were alive, as if they were standing just behind him. But he couldn’t ask the crew to understand that, and his guts were not exactly the most reliable part of him right now.  
  
“Understood,” he said, weakly. He could see a pair of orderlies ready to help him to Sickbay, but he waved them off and headed for the bridge. If he was going to abandon this planet, then he was damn well going to make that move himself. Anyway, there was no CMO to drug him and drag him to a hospital bed.  
  
It all seemed to happen so quickly, and whether that was the dizziness throwing him off or some sort of shock, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was one moment he was giving the order to leave, and the next he was watching the bright yellow planet blinking into nothing.  
  
And he felt strangely calm, and unbroken.  
  
It was oddly quiet for a moment, and then Chapel’s voice came over the comm. “Captain Kirk, please report to Sickbay.” He was about to wave her off, but even he had to admit to himself that he was hardly in the position to command what with the room swaying and all. He responded with an affirmative (or hoped he did), and shuffled down to Sickbay, still feeling vaguely suspended from his body. As he reached the doors, he tried to prepare himself for the absence of his doctor.  
  
Which was somewhat ruined by the sight of a mildly banged up Bones examining a slightly impatient-looking Spock. Jim tried to muster together his emotional and mental responses to this into something succinct and sensible. “You’re not dead,” is what he said instead. “You’re both alive.”  
  
“Indeed,” Spock said airily.  
  
“Nothing gets past this one,” Bones added, not looking away from the stats blinking above Spock’s head. Spock was giving him a look that seemed to say, _if you’re looking after me, who’s looking after you?_  As if in answer, Jim turned to find Chapel was watching sharply from the corner. “Scotty yanked us up at the last minute. My innards are still recov’ring.”  
  
“What…” Jim wobbled and Chapel helped him onto a bed, but he declined to lie down. “What happened? Where _were_ you, Bones?”  
  
Bones looked down, pushing out his lower lip in a guilty way. He had ceased to examine Spock, but his hand still rested on the other’s arm “Foster, he was intent on going down with the planet. Thought it a fitting punishment. And he may have had something there but... I thought I could save him.” He shrugged, guilt heavy on his shoulders. “Stubborn bastard.”  
  
“Dr Foster’s foolishness and greed was his own downfall,” Spock said, shortly. He and Bones shared a glance, something unspoken passing between them, and then Spock looked over at Jim. “The instability of the planet no doubt interfered with the transporter, leaving me behind. Moments after you beamed up, Leonard reappeared and - as you did - wasted some time trying to ascertain my condition before contacting Mr Scott.”  
  
“ _Wasted_ -”  
  
Jim grinned, both at Bones’s outrage and the subtle amusement in Spock’s eyes. He continued: “Just before collapse, there was a brief moment of stasis which was sufficient for us to be beamed aboard. Given my injury, Leonard insisted on rushing me here.”  
  
“I suppose I should have let you just _bleed_ out in the transporter room?” Bones demanded, waving one arm expansively. But his irritation was softened somewhat, his left hand still on Spock’s arm.  
  
“If you had not delayed in joining us, Doctor, then my injury-”  
  
Jim lay back on the bed and closed his eyes as he listened to them bicker, thinking now that there was no better sound in the universe.  
  
That evening, Jim came to check on Spock, who was still being kept in Sickbay under Bones’s orders. _At least 24 hours, then consider me satisfied_ , Bones had said. However he was sitting up, consulting a PADD.  
  
“Spock.”  
  
He looked up at Jim, and - noting that they were alone - set down his PADD. “Jim,” he acknowledged quietly.  
  
Jim walked forward and perched on the edge of the bed. “I’m actually surprised to find you still here,” he teased, smiling sideways at Spock.  
  
There was a particular relaxation in Spock’s features Jim had always seen clearly as a smile. “I can still complete my work from here, and I believe it will placate Leonard. As much as such a thing is possible.” Jim laughed and they sat in silence for a few moments, their mutual love of the irrational doctor like something tangible in the room. Eventually Spock said, with hesitation: “The events of today were regrettable.”  
  
Jim sighed, chest rising and falling. “All those resources lost, those lives. And that creature in the core, we learned so little about it. Perhaps the only one of its kind we’ll ever encounter.” _Senseless_. Jim knew when his mind was clearer he would be truly angry about the cruelty of what happened, the lost potential. Right now, he was still a little numb.  
  
“Indeed,” Spock agreed, and something about the tone made Jim wonder this was one of those occasions where he dwelled on the shortcomings of humans. “However, I refer also to your believing that Leonard and myself were dead, and being subsequently faced with the responsibility of leaving us.”  
  
Jim almost winced and lowered his eyes to his lap. “That decision…”  
  
“Was an admirable one, the logical one, Jim. It is precisely what Leonard and I would expect from you under the circumstances, as you would expect it of me.” Jim met Spock’s eyes and they were earnest, full of conviction. “I regret, nonetheless, that you were put in that position, and the pain it must have caused.”  
  
A fond smile lit Jim’s features. “You know, Spock, it’s the strangest thing. When I was back aboard the ship, I… felt that you were both alive. I don’t mean I just hoped it, it was as if you were in another room. Your presence was still there. Does that make any sense?”  
  
Spock seemed mildly surprised. “I believe what you are describing is a side-effect of the bond the three of us share. I often experience a similar conviction, today in fact, I was well aware that Leonard was not yet dead. Yet I was not certain until now that either of you were capable - despite not being Vulcan - to feel the connection in such a way.”  
  
“You mean it’s a form of telepathy?”  
  
Jim turned to find Bones leaning in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. His right eyebrow was doing its standard impression of the Starfleet insignia.  
  
“A simplified definition, Leonard, but not entirely erroneous.”  
  
Bones snorted at that and Jim turned back to Spock, grinning. “So you’re saying it's because the three of us are soulmates?”  
  
Spock shifted his shoulders. “A rather romantic definition,” he said, then his expression softened, “but effectively correct.”  
  



End file.
